


One Bright Day in the Middle of the Night

by kayla96k



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-10-24 03:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17696897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayla96k/pseuds/kayla96k
Summary: "Watford holds many secrets and I'm willing to share each ugly, bloody one. The question is, do you want to know what they are, Chosen One?"When the veil is thin, Simon is visited by none other than Natasha Grimm-Pitch herself. But what surprises Simon is that she's not there to visit Baz, she's there to visit him. There's something unnerving about Natasha's ghost and she's eerily knowledgeable about the living world. But when Natasha asks Simon to find her kidnapped son and pass on a last request, Simon feels compelled to do as she asks.But as Simon attempts to do as Natasha has bid him, he stumbles upon a mess of secrets he was never meant to discover. Who were his parents? Why is he as powerful as he is? What really happened on that fateful day in the nursery?As Simon and Baz get closer, and feelings are revealed, Simon begins to question everything he ever knew.The dead don't always stay dead and the living don't always tell the truth.





	1. An Uncomfortable Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all! When I originally uploaded this I could not format it but it's been fixed. This is a series, so it should end up being around 50,000 words. I hope you all enjoy it (:

Simon felt his stomach dip as he passed through the gates of Watford. Wasn’t it supposed to feel good to come home?

It had been months since he’d been at Watford and in that time he’d spent as much energy possible avoiding thinking about everything he’d left up in the air when he’d left for the summer. And now he was back, free to make himself sick over thinking about everything he had tried to keep at the back of his mind. But part of him didn’t want to open the gate, there was something in his gut telling him to turn back, to call Penny at the end of the road and to go somewhere else, _anywhere_ else than here.

Baz would probably love that.

With an angry sigh, Simon stepped through the gates.

Premal stopping him certainly hadn’t set him up to be in a good mood, he would attribute the weird feeling to that. After all, there was nothing wrong. He was just feeling nervous to face the Mage after everything that had happened with the Humdrum. Or maybe he was nervous to be facing Agatha after whatever the hell had happened between her and Baz in the Wavering Wood.

Simon gritted his teeth angrily.

One thing he was sure of was that he wasn’t nervous to face Baz. The first few days of the school year were always especially rocky between the two of them but this time would be worse, Simon would make sure of it.

He trudged through the campus, careful not to make eye contact with anyone as he did. Premal had assured him that the Mage’s Men knew about the Humdrum using his face only as a precaution and that no one else had been privy to the information. But Simon didn’t want to look around to find out if that were true. He could only imagine the looks he would get and the whispers that would flutter around him until they felt like one enormous voice yelling. But nobody looked at him and nobody whispered. He _was_ a bit early after all.

He stormed up to his room, his irritation with Baz increasing with every step. He wasn’t going to demand an explanation. As unsure as he was about his relationship with Agatha, he knew she’d be honest with him. And if he didn’t want her to be honest with him? If the truth was too much to bear? Then he only hoped she was as ready to move on from this mess as he was. But when he stormed into his room he found it empty.

It wasn’t that odd. Baz’s family usually took him to a fancy lunch before dropping him off, leaving Baz to brag about his lobster and champagne meal while raking his eyes across Simon’s usually starved body.

Simon was not looking forward to _that_ particular event. Even he had to admit that he looked pretty bad this year. His clothes were baggy to begin with, what with them being cheap and old, but he looked like he was wearing bed sheets for clothes this year. He knew his skin was sallow, yellowing like old paper and that his eyes had purple stains under them from lack of sleep. It couldn’t be helped, he had been feeling off all summer but especially so in the weeks leading up to his return to Watford. Something in his gut told him that there was something terrible on the horizon and Simon could only hope that he was imagining things.

As Simon settled on his bed with a sigh, wondering if Baz was drinking wine with his lunch, _could vampires drink wine or only blood that looked like wine?_ , he attempted to relax. That attempt was cut short by a tapping at the window. He sat up straight to find a bird pecking its beak against the old glass of their window.

He opened it to find a note from the Mage.

“Meet me in my office when you arrive.”

Simon sighed and shooed the bird away.

A year ago, Simon would have jumped at the opportunity to meet with the Mage at the start of the school year to catch up on everything he missed. But with the Humdrum walking around as a child version of him, and the Mage having ignored him for the entire summer, Simon wasn’t very eager to meet with him. A small part of him felt hurt, betrayed even, by the Mage. It couldn’t be that hard to send a bird every once in awhile just to let Simon know what was going on. But he squashed it down whenever the feeling came up, it wasn’t as if the Mage owed him anything.

When he arrived at the Mage’s office he blinked in surprise. The place was covered in books and papers. It looked as if Penny had pulled one of her all nighter study sessions in here and left without a word. Instead, Simon found the Mage at the center of the pile looking as sleep deprived as he was. He was fussing with what looked like an ancient scroll, totally oblivious to his presence, when Simon cleared his throat.

“Oh, Simon, good,” he said.

He stared up at him, something flickering in his expression that Simon couldn’t interpret.

“Sir?”

The Mage shook his head and stood up.

“Yes, sorry,” he murmured, “Things have been a bit...intense as of late. The Old Families appear to be gathering up their forces. I think we can expect either a formal complaint from them to the Coven or an outright attack any day now.”

Simon wanted to offer to help, to say that he would be happy to talk to any of the Old Families, to remind them that he was the Chosen One and he would be the first person they’d be up against if they fought the Mage. But he knew that the Mage would say no, that we had to be more careful than that, to go higher when they went lower. As much as he respected the Mage, Simon knew it was a load of crap. He just didn’t want Simon going off near them and making things worse, and could he really blame him?

“Maybe I should go then,” he said, “Let you get back to planning.”

The Mage snorted.

“That’s nonsense, I’m the one who sent the bird.”

He stood and gripped Simon by the shoulders, which surprised him. The Mage wasn’t a very touchy feely kind of mentor.

“Simon,” he said, “I know I’ve been quiet this summer. But there is a reason, I swear.”

Simon nodded, feeling a sudden lift at the news that he hadn’t been excluded just because.

“There are forces at work, forces more insidious than the Old Families and more pressing than the Humdrum.”

Simon frowned.

“But what could be more pressing than the Humdrum? He’s trying to take all of our magic.”

The Mage sighed.

“You’re just a boy, I don’t expect you to understand. But there is something on the horizon, something coming for Watford, which will be more bloody and more vengeful than a silly boy who wears your face and throws a tantrum when he doesn’t get more magic. Has the Humdrum ever killed anyone? I don’t think so.”

Simon felt his cheeks redden.

“I’ve always been there to stop him,” he said.

The Mage nodded.

“Yes but still, the Humdrum’s goal has been to suck magic, not kill magicians, however harmful taking the magic might be to us. This thing that’s coming...it will be worse, _much_ worse.”

Simon straightened, wanting to appear confident.

He didn’t like that the Mage had referred to him as a boy. He was eighteen (or at least he was pretty sure he was) and he thought he’d proven himself long ago to be more mature than any other eighteen year old, Normal and Magician alike. But if he were to set the Mage straight, now was not the time to sulk about it. He needed to prove himself to be a proper soldier.

“What’s coming? What can I do to help?”

The Mage looked around, as if the threat he spoke of could be in the room.

“The problem is, I’m not sure what it will be. I only know there’s a new threat and that it will be deadly.”

“But Sir-”

“Simon,” the Mage shook his shoulders, “Do you trust me?”

Simon swallowed, why did it suddenly seem difficult to answer that question?

“Of course.”

He nodded, relief in his eyes.

“Then I need you to trust me. I have never been wrong about a prophecy and I don’t think I will start today.”

So it was about a prophecy, or so he was implying.

“Okay.”

“I need you to keep an eye on everything you see, to track anything suspicious and report it straight to me. The Visitings are starting soon, which means that the dead with stories to tell will be coming back. There might be something there.”

Simon swallowed loudly.

“The dead? As in...zombies?”

The Mage shook his head impatiently.

“No no, not those. Necromancers have been long gone for centuries and without them there aren’t zombies. I meant spirits, spirits with unfinished business will soon be able to cross through the Veil and speak with us.”

Simon wanted to circle back to the necromancer comment but decided against it, he didn’t want his Normal roots to show. Instead he tried to focus on what the Mage meant about the spirits.

“So if I see a spirit? Or anything suspicious?”

The Mage’s eyes blazed.

“Trust nothing you hear, investigate as much as possible, and report it to me.”

Simon nodded.

* * *

 

Penny sat across from him, her arms crossed.

“So all he said was that something terrible was coming, worse than the Old Families and worse than the Humdrum?”

Simon nodded, stuffing his fifth sandwich in his mouth.

She frowned.

“But how does he not know anything else? And you said he got this from a prophecy?”

Simon thought about it for a moment. The Mage had mentioned never getting a prophecy wrong, but had never _actually_ said he’d gotten it from a prophecy.

Simon bit his lip.

“Well he definitely implied that it came from one.”

Penny rolled her eyes.

“Then that doesn’t mean that’s where he got it. He hasn’t spoken to you in months Simon and he didn’t say a word about the Humdrum after he _teleported_ us miles and miles away over water. We could have died that day and now you’re taking his ‘implied’ word?”

Simon glared at her.

“Now you sound like your mother.”

Penny glared back.

“Well, she _is_ an incredibly intelligent woman.”

Simon was the first to break from the glaring contest, sighing.

“I’m sorry Penny. You’re right, it felt weird even to me. But I’ve always trusted the Mage and now? It’s like I just want everything to go back to normal.”

Her eyes softened and she reached for his hand, smoothing circles into it.

“I know but with all of these threats swirling over our heads, we need to be smarter about things more than ever.”

Simon nodded, hating that he felt like he couldn’t fully trust the Mage but realizing that Penny was right. How could he trust him fully when the Mage clearly had his Mage’s Men on uber guard mode for the Humdrum but hadn’t said a word to Simon about what had happened with him while he’d been gone for summer?

Penny dropped his hand with a thud.

“Speaking of getting back to normal…” she murmured.

Agatha walked up to us, a strange expression on her face.

“Hey there,” she said, glancing between the two of us.

“Hi,” I said.

Penny stood up.

“To be clear, I was just comforting Simon, _not_ seducing him. And you two should probably talk, you know, about the whole Baz thing.”

Without even acknowledging Simon’s glare or Agatha’s open mouth, Penny flounced out of the dining hall.

Agatha sat down across from Simon on the bench, shaking her head. Her blonde hair caught the light of the afternoon sun and her amber eyes glowed. Simon didn’t know how he felt about what Agatha had done, how he felt about Agatha _period_ , but he couldn’t deny his desire to just go back to normal and put this whole mess behind them.

“Agatha-”

“No Simon,” she said, “I think I need to start.”

Simon didn’t like the sound of where this was going.

“I should never have done that to you, first of all, you’ve been an amazing boyfriend and that was a shitty thing for me to do.”

Simon froze.

“Done what, exactly?”

This was the part he’d been about to suggest they skip, that they forget ever happened. But with Agatha apologizing, he couldn’t just leave it in the air unsaid now.

“I didn’t kiss him or anything like that,” she said, “I just...I like him. Or maybe I just like the idea of liking him. I don’t know.”

Simon felt his stomach flip, nausea rising. He’d always hated Baz and he’d always hated the way Baz flirted with Agatha. But imagining them together was on another level. When he pictured them he pictured the perfect couple, like a matched set of expensive and finely crafted salt and pepper shakers. There would be no room for him there, he’d be shut out of both of their lives forever.

“What are you saying?” Simon said, “That you didn’t cheat on me but that you wanted to?”

Agatha bit her lip.

“I...think that depends on how you define cheating. I never kissed him and holding his hand that day is the extent of anything I have done, but I’d thought about it before. And that seems like cheating to me.”

Simon felt the bile rise, wondering in horror if he would actually vomit now and make the situation even worse.

“So where does this leave me? Where does this leave _us?”_

Agatha gripped his hands, eyes pleading.

“We’ll always be friends Simon.”

He ripped his hands from her grasp and stood, fists at his side.

“I-I just don’t want to be your girlfriend anymore Simon. It wouldn’t be fair to you, to either of us!”

Simon laughed, feeling very far away from the dining hall and even Watford.

“Fair,” he said, voice breaking, “So you’re breaking up with me for Baz?”

Her jaw tightened.

“No,” she said, “I have no idea how Baz feels or if I even want to go out with him in the first place. But I know…”

She trailed off as if she realized her next words would be too much.

“But you know that you don’t want to be with me,” Simon said, feeling itchy and hot.

She looked away but didn’t deny it.

It was almost worse this way, knowing that it wasn’t Baz behind it. That Baz hadn’t used vampiric hypnosis or made rich promises to her in stolen moments. She just didn’t want to be with him, plain and simple. He had no one to blame but himself.

He started to walk away.

“Simon please come back!”

He paused but didn’t turn around.

“You were all I ever wanted, what am I supposed to do now?”

She was silent for a moment, so long that he thought she might not answer him.

“What you’ve always done. Go be the Chosen One.”

He grimaced.

Even now, as she was destroying all of his plans and dreams, she was still going to throw that in his face.

He threw the doors open to leave the dining hall.

* * *

 That night, on the lawn as all of the festivities were going on, Penny fussed over Simon and tried to make things better.

“I always knew you two weren’t meant for each other.”

Tried to make things better, but didn’t necessarily succeed.

“Excuse me?” Simon asked, warily.

She sighed and crossed her legs, facing him.

“There was never any chemistry, never any passion. I mean did you two even ever have sex?”

Simon went a deep red.

“That is _none_ of your business,” he snapped.

She held her hands out in mock surrender.

“Okay, okay. I’m just saying you’ll be the first person to find out when I do.”

Simon glared at her.

“And not everyone has sex in a relationship Penny. Plenty of people don’t want sex or feel the need for it in a happy relationship.”

Penny nodded.

“You’re right. But did you ever feel like you had a connection to Agatha? I know you worshipped her, but did you feel like you two were connected?”

Simon fell silent.

He cared about Agatha and he cared about her life but he couldn’t honestly say they shared a connection. They were never quite on the same page and he felt closer to Penny than he did to anyone else.

“No,” he said.

She nodded.

“See?” she asked, “Definitely not meant to be together.”

He sighed and looked around.

“Baz isn’t here yet,” he said, frowning.

Penny laughed.

“Now Baz is someone you have a connection with,” she said, “Plenty of chemistry there.”

Simon couldn’t help but grin.

“Blow up the school lab kind of chemistry.”

Penny looked far off.

“Yeah,” she said, “But still.”

* * *

Simon couldn’t sleep.

Baz still wasn’t there. It was almost two in the morning and Baz still wasn’t in their room. This had never happened before.

He tried to imagine what Baz could be up to but couldn’t figure it out. Whatever he was doing though, he wasn’t where he was supposed to be and it was making Simon anxious.

How was he supposed to feel like he was home when nothing around him felt like it?


	2. Nighttime Visitor

It had been over a month and Baz still wasn’t back at Watford.

Simon hadn’t been able to sleep, hadn’t really been able to eat, and was on the verge of summoning a demon just to figure out where the hell Baz had disappeared to. Penny had tried on multiple occasions to get Simon to calm down, to realize that Baz had probably dropped out and that he didn’t need to make himself sick over it. But it felt _wrong_. Simon couldn’t shake the feeling that Baz was in danger, that something had happened to him.

Even Agatha had stepped in, sitting with them at lunch every so often these days in her attempt to just be friends, telling him that he was going a bit overboard. That whatever the Mage was worried about coming to Watford, this couldn’t be it. They thought Simon was suspicious of Baz and he _had_ been, but not anymore. It was getting to the point where he was wondering what the hell had actually happened to Baz.

Now he was standing in front of the Mage’s office, poised to knock on the door, but not sure if he should.

The door swung open and the Mage almost walked into Simon’s raised fist.

“Sir!” Simon yelped, dropping his hand.

The Mage looked up in alarm.

“Simon?”

He seemed startled and distracted, like he’d already excused himself from the conversation.

“I uh, just need to talk to you quickly about something.”

The Mage shook his head, already moving around him and towards the staircase.

“Simon I really do want to talk to you but I need to get to my meeting with the Coven, it’s urgent. The Old Families have filed an official-”

“This is about that thing! That you said before, about telling you about anything suspicious. You said it was more important than the Old Families and the Humdrum.”

The Mage stopped short and looked up, frowning.

“What is it?”

Simon cleared his throat, nervous.

“Baz has been missing Sir, for weeks.”

The Mage shook his head.

“Simon as much as you don’t care for your roommate, and believe me I don’t blame you, I can _promise_ you that he’s no threat to the school and not what I was referring to before.”

Simon followed him down the stairs.

“But I wasn’t saying that he was a threat. I think something’s happened to him, something bad. I can’t explain why but I just feel it.”

The Mage turned to look at him slowly, his expression odd.

“Have you had any...Visitings?” he asked.

Simon shook his head, confused.

“Oh,” the Mage said, “Well rest assured, I’m looking into Basilton’s disappearance. You don’t need to worry about it.”

 With that he rushed down the stairs, leaving Simon standing behind him.

* * *

That night, Simon couldn’t sleep. All he could think about was Baz, wondering why this was bothering him so much. Hadn’t he always wanted to get rid of Baz? But now that he’d had his wish granted he found that he wasn’t enjoying it as much as he’d thought he would.

There was a sound in the room, a low creak like someone had stepped on one of the old floor boards. But that couldn’t be possible, there was nobody else here except him. Baz was a lot of things, but prankster he wasn’t, he would never sneak up on Simon after being gone for over a month. Simon was just getting paranoid with all of this Baz nonsense.

He turned over in his bed and that’s when he heard it again, the same creaking, only now it was closer.

His eyes popped open but he didn’t dare look at the foot of the bed. He felt eleven years old again, terrified of imaginary things that bumped and hissed in the night. He hadn’t had night terrors since he’d come to Watford, but he could feel the old fear like it was just yesterday.

“Chosen One,” something whispered.

He sat up straight in bed and saw what awaited him at the foot of his bed.

A woman stood there, watching him with shining eyes.

Her hair was wild about her face, scattered with a leaf here and twig there. It looked beautiful, long and black but as if it hadn’t been properly cared for in a little while. Her robes were dark so Simon couldn’t really tell if they were expensive but had to guess that they were. And her feet were bare, which struck Simon as odd, bare and caked with mud. But it was her eyes that caught his attention and cut off the yell that was now stuck in his throat, they were silver like Baz’s and bright as a full moon.

He recognized her, he would have recognized her even without her painting in the Mage’s office.

“Natasha Pitch,” he whispered.

She grinned, her expression as dangerous as a lion’s and just as wild.

“In the flesh,” she said.

Simon doubted that very much, realizing that she must be one of the Visitors, crossing the Veil to find her son.

“Baz isn’t here. He hasn’t been here for a while.”

Simon realized that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to tell her that. It would be devastating to come back after you’d died, only wishing to see your son and then find out that he was missing, possibly in danger. Still, Simon felt like he owed her the truth.

Her smile fell away.

“Oh I know,” she said, “I’ve been trying to find him.”

It struck Simon as odd that a ghost would be searching for her son, but what did he know? There probably wasn’t much to do if you were stuck in limbo like she was.

“Okay,” Simon said, “Well, as you can see, he’s not here.”

She looked as if she were making an effort not to roll her eyes.

“I’m not here for my son, Chosen One, I’m here to speak with you.”

Simon stared, heart thumping wildly.

He had no idea what Baz’s mom would want with him, how he could possibly be involved in her last ghostly request? But he knew it couldn’t be good. And why did she keep calling him the Chosen One? She’d died before the Mage had found him.

“My name is Simon,” he said, quietly.

She studied him.

“Well,” she said, “Simon, I’ve come to ask you for a favor.”

He swallowed, suddenly feeling as if his mouth and throat were completely dry.

“I don’t see what you could want with me,” he said.

She laughed, the sound tinkling in the empty room.

“Doesn’t everyone want something from you?” she asked.

He said nothing but he couldn’t look away, trapped by her predatory gaze.

“I want you to find my son Simon. He’s in grave danger and I think you are the only one who can find him.”

Simon blinked at that, as if he were finally awake.

“Baz? In danger? I had a feeling…”

She took a step closer.

“Yes he’s in danger. He’s been kidnapped and I need you to find him.”

Simon frowned, panic stirring in his gut.

“Kidnapped? By who?”

She sighed.

“If I knew I would have told you by now. I only know that he’s gone and that someone took him. They’ve been asking for ransom.”

Simon was very confused by how this whole ghost thing worked. If Natasha knew that he was the Chosen One and that Baz had been kidnapped because of a ransom, how could she not know where he was or who took him?

“I can tell the Mage, ask him to help-”

_“No!”_

Panic seized her expression and her arm shot out like she intended to grab Simon but then realized that she couldn’t.

“No you can’t do that,” she said, quieter now, “Nobody can know about this except for you.”

Simon felt a chill fall over him, goosebumps on his arms. This was just like Penny telling him they couldn’t trust the Mage, just like his own intuition telling him before that something was wrong.

“Why?” he asked.

Natasha’s face contorted into a mask of fury and pain, an expression so intense that Simon jerked back a bit.

“There are more secrets housed in these walls than you know Chosen One,” she spat.

He nodded, afraid of her more than he knew he should be. She was just a ghost and yet he felt the power coming off of her in waves, as if she was really there.

“I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

She nodded.

“When you find my son, you need to tell him to find Nicodemus. The key to unraveling my murder is in finding him. Once you do, Nicodemus will know what to do.”

Simon nodded and stood up, rummaging through his dresser drawer for a pen and paper.

“Right, Nicodemus,” he murmured, “I got it. So are you sure you don’t know anything else about where Baz might be?”

He turned around when he didn’t get an answer.

Natasha was gone.

* * *

 He lay in bed, more awake than he had been in the first place, and wondering if Natasha planned to come back from the other side or if that was all of the information he was going to get from her.

Part of him was relieved to have a plan, to know that he was in the right direction. But another part of him felt sick with the realization that Baz _was_ in danger, that someone had taken him and done who knew what with him. He felt the pressure of his promise to Natasha weigh down on his chest, making it almost painful to breathe. What if he couldn’t find him?

He felt a breeze, too strong to be coming from the open window and coming from the wrong direction.

“My rosebud boy…” a voice whispered.

Simon sat up straight in bed.

“Natasha?”

“He said we were stars….”

The voice sounded near him but he couldn’t see anyone attached to it.

“Natasha if you’re there please show yourself. I have more questions and I want to do this. I want to bring Baz home.”

“My rosebud boy, my Simon,” the voice was next to him now.

It wasn’t Natasha’s voice.

“Who are you?”

“I never would have left you,” the voice whispered, the breeze wrapping around him like an embrace.

Something childlike in him stirred, some intuitive part of him recognizing the voice and the almost-touch.

“Mom?” he whispered.

“I love you so much Simon,” she whispered.

And then she was gone.

Simon sat up in bed, alone now and colder than he’d been before. He had no proof, but somehow he felt strongly that it had been his mom. Part of him wished he knew how to summon a ghost, to bring her back so he could see her, hug her. But another part of him felt lightheaded, remembering that only magicians had the power to cross the Veil, that their magic was what allowed them to contact the world of the living.

If his mother had come to cross the Veil to speak to him, that meant that she’d been a magician. And if that were true, why had the Mage claimed that Simon’s parents had been Normals, abandoning him at an orphanage?

Natasha’s warnings about secrets crossed his mind.

There really was no one he could trust.


	3. Déjà Vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting! Things are a bit hectic right now. Hoping to get a consistent posting schedule drafted but we shall see lol. I'm excited about how this chapter turned out.

“Simon? Why aren’t you eating your scones?”

It was afternoon tea and for the first time in his life at Watford, he was not hungry.

The night before kept replaying in his head, so much so that he had developed a migraine that felt like someone was slowly pushing a blunt ice pick into his skull. He had no idea where to start looking for Baz, or what clues he should be looking for, and it was looking increasingly as if he were going to fail Natasha. The thought made his stomach heave again as it had many times throughout the day. The image of the Normal police finding Baz in some ditch, cold and lifeless, haunted him. What if he was already too late?

“Simon what is going on?”

He snapped his head up to find both Agatha and Penny staring at him.

The concern in Penny’s face was matched by curiosity as well, instinctually catching on to the fact that something dangerous was going on. He could always count on Penny to want in on a plan, even if it meant risking their lives. Agatha’s concern was more obvious and not undercut by any desire to get in on a plan. He knew she didn’t like playing magical Nancy Drew just as he knew that she would sigh, pull up her expensive boots by their straps, and do it if he asked her to. But the fury and sadness in Natasha’s warning, that he could trust nobody, stopped him from telling them what had happened. He had no idea who was after Baz, or how dangerous this mission would be, he wasn’t even sure he knew how to protect himself in this situation let alone other people. There was no way he was going to put Penny and Agatha at risk.

“I’m just worried about the whole Baz thing,” he muttered.

Agatha shook her head.

“Simon there’s nothing you can do if he’s out there planning something. The Mage is watching the Old Families, you have nothing to worry about.”

He shook his head.

“That’s not exactly what I meant.”

Penny studied his face.

“Then what did you mean?”

He stood, grabbing his wand off the table.

“I need to go, I’ll see you both later okay?”

This was an impossible task, one that he had no idea how to start. He wished that Natasha had given him something else to go on, some clue about who would want Baz kidnapped. But she’d only given him more questions than he’d had in the first place.

He walked out into the afternoon sunshine and thought about who might want Baz kidnapped and out of Watford. But the only person he could think of was himself. Nobody hated Baz like Simon did, certainly nobody paid as much attention to Baz’s antics as Simon did. Which meant he had very few leads to go on. Sure, Baz came from one of the more extremist of the Old Families, but if the Mage wanted them arrested or shut down, all he needed to do was send in the Mage’s Men. Besides, it would be an incredibly risky thing for the Mage to do, to kidnap one of his own students, and Simon couldn’t imagine that anything could be worth that risk.

He threw himself down on the grass and watched the pitch.

Simon had done this many times before, but he’d never thought much beyond making sure Baz stayed put on the pitch instead of sneaking off to do something nefarious. Sometimes he’d been watching hoping to catch him cheating so that he could get him into trouble. Sometimes he’d just watch, like he was doing now. A part of him recognized that he missed Baz, though why he missed him was beyond him. Perhaps it was the lack of normalcy, the lack of his regular patterns.

Was it really Watford if he didn’t have Baz to worry about?

* * *

Simon felt more like a ghost than the Visitors.

He had begun haunting the halls at night and in the early morning. Searching the Wood, stalking the ramparts, and going down into the Catacombs. There was nothing for him in any of those places, and still he searched.

Penny and Agatha seemed to have written off his behavior as his usual Baz obsession, which was a bit annoying but mostly left him relieved. He didn’t want them suspicious of what he was doing.

Simon had finally resorted to searching the Cloisters. He had little confidence that this would work, but he was running out of options. If he still didn’t have any clues about Baz’s disappearance in a week, he was going to go to the Mage. Surely there was something he could do, even if Simon didn’t fully trust him at the moment.

It was then, stalking the halls in the Cloisters, that he heard the Mage’s voice. _Speak of the devil_ he thought and rounded the corner, wondering how he was going to explain what he was doing there.

The Mage was standing in the center of the room, which appeared to be a sitting room of sorts across from a set of bathrooms. He was playing with his mustache and was very clearly irritated. The Mage’s Men surrounded him, looking tense and nervous.

Simon cleared his throat.

Nobody reacted to his presence, it was like he wasn’t there at all.

“Sir?”

Still the Mage didn’t react.

It was then that Simon realized he had inadvertently ended up on the extra floor between the second and third floor. Anything that happened on the floor above it would play back here a day later, like a movie. They couldn’t see or hear Simon because they weren’t really there, they had been a storey above yesterday instead.

Simon was about to turn away, uninterested in anything that didn’t have to do with Baz at the moment, when the Mage finally spoke.

"Things are getting worse,” he said, gravely.

Premal was the bravest among the men in the room, shuffling forward nervously.

“What do you mean, sir?”

He glanced back at Premal, his eyes tired.

"The Old Families are closing in. I can feel them plotting, planning to grasp the Coven in one filthy fist and Watford in the other.”

“We won’t let them,” said a boy Simon didn’t recognize.

“It won’t matter anyways,” the Mage said, eyes far away, “There’s something coming, something more dangerous than the Humdrum or catty, spoiled magicians. And I fear it might destroy us all.”

“I don’t understand what any of this has to do with going through my sister's room,” Premal said, a touch defensive.

Simon tensed, what had they been doing searching through Penny’s room?

The Mage studied Premal, a frightening amount of coldness in his eyes, before smiling slightly.

“You are a protective brother, she will need that with what is to come.”

Premal frowned.

“I suspect she is assisting Simon in searching for the Pitch boy and if she is, I need to know about it.”

Premal cocked his head to the side.

“Why not ask her? Or ask Simon for that matter?”

A man with arms as thick as tree trunks sneered.

“The Chosen One gone rogue on your sir? Need us to take care of him?”

Simon was surprised at the amount of malice in the man’s voice. He knew he often created messes for the Mage’s Men when fighting the Humdrum, but he never once thought that any of them disliked him.

The Mage’s eyes flashed before going cool again.

“No,” the Mage said, “He’s told me he’s worried about Tyrannus. That’s why I suspect he’s looking for him. But when you tell Simon that something is dangerous and that he shouldn’t do it, it’s like dangling a very attractive steak in front of a dog. He’ll just go after it instead. Which is why I need to be more subtle.”

Simon did not necessarily appreciate the Mage’s perspective of his habits, but he couldn’t deny his assessment either. If you told him something was dangerous, he preferred to be the one to risk it then let others take care of things.

“And why is it dangerous?” asked Premal, “He’s eighteen, shouldn’t he be more active in fighting against the Old Families? Isn’t that what this is all about?”

The Mage looked at Premal, looking as if he were deciding something on the spot.

“Tyrannus is not at home, nor is his family using him as a weapon at the moment, at least not in any obvious capacity.”

Premal frowned.

“What do you mean?”

The Mage turned back to the window.

“He’s been kidnapped.”

Simon stopped breathing.

The Mage’s Men reacted by looking at each other in disbelief and whispering. Premal was the only one to stand his ground and ask more questions.

“Sir...are you sure? Many of the eighth year boys are dropping out to join their families, if the Grimms told you this it could have been to throw you off-”

The Mage threw up a hand to cut him off.

“His family did not tell me this, though they did report him missing to the school.”

Premal gave the Mage an odd look.

“Then how do you know he’s been kidnapped?”

The Mage turned to face them all, a stern look on his face.

“I have my sources,” he said by way of explanation before clearing his throat, “Nobody is to say a word about any of this to anyone. If you hear or see anything suspicious report it directly to me. Do you understand?”

They all nodded.

“Then you are dismissed.”

Simon watched as the figures left the room and then vanished completely, their part of yesterday’s scene complete.

Only the Mage remained, standing in the light of the window, a strange look on his face.

“I must consult with the oracle,” he whispered.

Simon felt confused. There hadn’t been an oracle at Watford for hundreds of years, as far as Simon knew there hadn’t been an oracle _anywhere_ in hundreds of years. What did the Mage mean, saying he had to speak to the oracle?

But it must mean what it sounded like. If the Mage knew that Baz was kidnapped and his family hadn’t told him, then he must have gone to an oracle to find out. Natasha clearly wouldn’t have Visited the Mage to tell him, she didn’t trust him at all. There was no other explanation.

The questions was, why did the Mage care about who had kidnapped Baz?

And where was this oracle?


	4. Two Dead Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter is somewhat graphic (scary) and definitely disturbing. There is blood, injury, blood consumption, and other disturbing elements in this chapter. Just want to make sure y'all have all the information before reading. It's good though I promise!

It wasn’t until Simon started stalking someone else that he realized just how focused he’d been on stalking Baz for the last few years.

He’d been following the Mage for the last few nights, hoping to find him speaking to his oracle. Surely if the oracle could tell the Mage that Baz had been kidnapped she could tell Simon where Baz was being kept. Plus, he wanted to find out what the hell the Mage was doing asking an oracle about Baz’s whereabouts in the first place.

It was exhausting and boring, nothing like the thrill of anticipation and excitement that Simon had felt following Baz into the catacombs or stalking him in the Wavering Wood. He spent hours simply watching the Mage in his office. It was getting to the point where he was considering tackling the Mage and casting a very illegal **the** **truth will set you free spell** , consequences be damned.

But he had gotten lucky tonight.

He’d been walking back from a late study session with Penny and Agatha. Lately they’d been doing anything they could to distract him from his moping. Agatha was convinced that Simon was acting out because he thought she had feelings for Baz (she insisted that she wasn’t worried about Baz or pining after him, so Simon could snap out of it). Penny tended to roll her eyes when Agatha went on with her sympathetic assurances, her assumption being that Simon was just obsessing over Baz as per the usual. Simon didn’t correct either one of them, he didn’t mind being fussed over by the both of them, especially if it kept them distracted.

As they’d been walking they passed the Mage, who was briskly walking in the opposite direction. He looked focused, with scrolls gathered up in his arms. He was so focused that he didn’t see Simon until they’d practically run into each other. Simon purposefully shoved his shoulder our father than necessary, stopping the Mage.

“Oh,” the Mage huffed, ‘Simon, how are you?”

Simon focused on his mustache, worried that the truth would come spilling out of him if he looked him directly in the eyes.

“Good, studying with Penny and Agatha.”

He could practically feel the disapproval coming off in waves from Penny behind him. The Mage had a tendency to ignore women in any room, even if they were fuming in purple cat eye glasses right in front of him.

“Ah yes, good afternoon girls,” the Mage smiled.

Penny harrumphed quietly while Agatha smiled prettily at him.

“Well,” the Mage said, “I better be off, have a good evening Simon...and you as well Penelope, Agatha.”

With that, the Mage continued on his path, as focused as if he had never been interrupted in the first place.

“I wonder if, next time the Mage comes to talk to us, I should wear my Simon Snow sidekick t-shirt,” Penny grumbled, “Then maybe he’ll take a second to glance at me and acknowledge my presence.”

Agatha frowned.

“But you don’t like him, what does it matter if he pays attention to you.”

Penny scowled.

“Just because I don’t like him doesn’t mean that I don’t want him to respect me.”

Agatha shook her head, clearly not understanding Penny’s frustration.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” Simon said, already walking to follow the Mage, “I have something I forgot to ask him.”

Agatha waved at him, not even questioning that he’d want to talk to the Mage.

Penny frowned at him, but didn’t ask, clearly trusting that he would tell her about whatever it was later. It made Simon’s stomach twist guiltily knowing that he wouldn’t be able to live up to that trust. But he knew it was better to have Penny mad at him than it was to have her kidnapped by the same people who took Baz.

“See you later,” she said, double meaning coloring her tone.

Simon ignored her and ran to catch up with the Mage.

* * *

He followed the Mage to the Weeping Tower.

Simon realized that he didn’t know Watford as well as he thought he had. The Mage kept going down hallways that Simon didn’t recognize and eventually went up a staircase that Simon would have passed by completely if he hadn’t seen the Mage vanish into it. Eventually he found himself in a round room with only a hole in the ceiling. He could hear voices above him.

He wasn’t in an ideal place for hiding. The room, while being very dark except for the hole in the ceiling, was very open and had no furniture to crouch behind. It wasn’t an issue at that moment, but Simon knew the Mage would have to come down from the room above at some point. Simon cast a whispered **now you see me now you don’t** and stood in the darkest part of the room he could find. He _should_ be invisible, and he was fairly sure that he was, but he didn’t want to stand like an idiot in the center of the room to test it out.

He couldn’t decipher anything that was being said in the room above him. All he could hear was the murmur of voices, one pitched lower and the other higher. It was hard for him to stay put, knowing that the Mage was discussing something of importance up there, but he knew he didn’t have a chance of hearing anything without spelling himself into the room above him.

Eventually the Mage came down, floating down like Mary Poppins. He didn’t even stop to glance around, clearly believing there was no way he’d been followed. Instead, he strode out the way he came. Simon waited a good ten minutes before moving out of his spot in the dark and undoing his hiding spell.

It took him a few tries to **up, up, and away** himself into the room.

Once he got in the room and righted himself, the light shining through giving way to the details of his surroundings, it took all of his strength to stop himself from jerking back through the hole on the ground.

He _did_ jerk back a bit, locking his knees as he did so that he didn’t crash back to the room below.

There was a corpse in the room.

She was lying as far from the hole in the ground as possible, her limbs curling away from her. Simon had to admit that he couldn’t even be sure the corpse was a woman, but it looked as if she might be. She was dressed in a gauzy white gown and she still had a decent amount of straw-like greying hair. Her feet were chained into the ground and the metal was covered in markings Simon didn’t recognize. He could feel the magic pouring off of the chain, binding spells.

He had no clue where the other person was, the one who owned the voice Simon had heard speaking with the Mage only minutes prior, until he looked at the corpse’s face.

Eyes, pale and blue as ice, stared back at him.

He felt his knees give out under him and sank down onto the ground.

_“Fuck.”_

At the sound of his voice, she began to move. Shifting off the ground and pooling her dress around herself. Simon didn’t move away, _couldn’t_ move at all. Instead he stayed where he was, trapped in his own terrified body. She got as close as the chain would allow, which was close enough for her cold breath to brush the hair off his forehead.

“Chosen One,” she whispered, the sound like music over crunching gravel.

Simon felt bile rise in his throat and fought to keep from gagging.

“I wondered when you were going to leave your hiding spot and come up here,” she said, tilting her head to the side.

The sound of her neck cracking as she did so snapped Simon out of his terror.

“Y-you are...you can’t b-be-”

“Shhh,” she soothed, raising her wrinkled finger to stroke his face, “It’s okay child, I won’t hurt you.”

Simon shuddered but didn’t pull away, some distant part of him realizing that he would need to appeal to this creature to get what he wanted.

“You’re dead,” he said.

She chuckled.

“I was at one time, not so much at the moment.”

Simon clenched his fists so hard that his nails broke the skin of his palms.

He needed to get ahold of himself. The corpse, for he could not think of any other way to describe the woman, was absolutely horrifying. Part of his brain couldn’t get past the look of her decaying skin and the fact of her very being. Another part of his brain felt sick over the Mage, knowing somehow that he must be responsible for whatever dark magic had allowed her to be reanimated. But he knew he needed to take control of the situation, to get to the bottom of whatever was going on so that he could help Baz.

 _Baz_ Simon thought, concern for his safety overriding all of his other emotions.

He took a deep breath.

“How are you...alive right now, then?”

She smiled, or rather pulled what was left of her lips back into a gruesome grin.

“Your lovely Mage, of course,” she said, “He got tired of reading recordings of prophecies and wanted to get them straight from the source.”

Simon swallowed and shook his head.

He had suspected, had instinctually _known_ , that the Mage had done this. Hadn’t his gut been telling him for weeks not to trust the Mage? Natasha’s face, enraged and devastated all at once, came flashing back to him. The Mage could not be trusted, Simon accepted that now. But it didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt him to realize it.

“But there hasn’t been an oracle for hundreds of years.”

She lowered her hand over her body, gesturing as if she were presenting herself.

“You’re right,” she said, “There hasn’t been an oracle _born_ in hundreds of years.”

Simon felt the bile coming back.

“He raised you,” he said, “He raised you from your grave.”

She shrugged.

“What else could he do? It’s not easy to conceive an oracle child. Not that he wouldn’t have done so if he had figured out how to, he’s quite willing to make children if they serve his own purpose.”

Simon frowned.

“I thought necromancers have been gone for hundreds of years too though.”

She snorted, _could a corpse snort?_

“Please,” she said, “Do not insult necromancers of old. The Mage is _not_ a necromancer. He could never be that powerful.”

“Then how did he raise you.”

Her blue eyes appraised him thoughtfully.

It was so strange, every part of her was decaying but her eyes remained untouched by death. They were the strangest shade of blue, looking almost translucent. It was not a color Simon had ever seen in anyone else’s eyes. He had a feeling they had looked exactly the same when she’d been alive, _really_ alive, a marker of what she was.

“You don’t need to be a necromancer to raise the dead,” she explained, “You only need access to very dark magic and the stomach to perform it. Necromancers, however, are much better at doing it and have the unique ability to control the dead.”

Simon glanced at the chains on what was left of her ankles.

“Yes,” she smiled, “That’s why he put me in chains.”

Simon felt something other than fear for the first time since he’d entered the room, he felt utter sadness.

He couldn’t imagine would it would be like to suddenly be ripped away from whatever reality you were in and thrown into your rotting corpse. To then be chained in a tower, with no access to anyone but the person who did this to you, and be forced to perform services for them.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I wish I had known. I would have stopped him.”

She sighed, almost wistfully.

“Of course you would have, Chosen One,” she said, “That’s what you do. But you haven’t come to stop him today. Or to undo what he’s done. You need something from me.”

Simon felt his cheeks burn, ashamed that she was right, that even though he could see how twisted and wrong it was, he was still going to ask for her help.

“It’s okay,” she said, “I want you to ask.”

He could feel that she meant it, which seemed strange.

How could she want to help him, someone who was actively allowing her to remain a prisoner to get his own way?

“What’s your name?” he blurted.

She stared at him a moment before answering.

“Deirdre.”

“And...are you a woman? If you don’t mind me asking!”

Simon realized he was prying, embarrassingly so, but didn’t take the question back.

Her eyes crinkled mischievously.

“Trying to decide if you find me pretty enough, are you?”

He said nothing.

“Yes,” she said, “I identify as a woman. Why do you ask?”

He looked away.

“I don’t want to keep thinking of you as a corpse.”

She patted his knee.

“Ah, easier to use me if you can imagine me as a person and not a miserable creature trapped by magic, is it?”

He shrugged, unwilling to free her even after the horrible thing she had said.

“As I said before,” she said, “It’s fine with me. I want you to ask.”

Simon studied her, frowning.

“Why?”

She smiled and pulled an ancient looking dagger out from between the folds of her dress.

“Blood for blood,” she whispered.

This time he did jerk back, scooting away from her as she cackled.

She didn’t make a move after him. She just sat with the handle of the knife turned out towards him, the blade facing her own chest. Simon wasn’t sure if she could reach him from where he sat, wasn’t sure if the chains would prevent her from reaching forward to stab the blade through his shoes.

“I’m not going to hurt you child,” she said, “I already told you that. But if you want answers from me, and I know that you do, then you’re going to need to hurt yourself.”

He didn’t dare move back towards her, not trusting her for a second.

“What do you mean?”

She spun the blade in her hand.

“If you want answers, I need your blood. It’s a fair trade, your blood for my visions. I give you what’s left of my miserable life and in return you give me a little bit of yours.”

He shook his head.

“I won’t make deals with the devil.”

She looked up at him sharply.

“I’m not the devil. I’m not the one bringing the dead back to life or stuffing children in coffins.”

“Excuse me?”

She sighed, looking at the knife.

“The Pitch boy is running out of time…”

That did it for him.

He crawled back towards her, still not trusting his legs enough to stand and held his hand out for the knife.

She smiled at him, her expression telling him that she never doubted that this would be the end result. She knew exactly what he wanted and exactly how far he was willing to get it. He had to remind himself that not only was this someone who could see visions, but that this was also someone who had been around for a _very_ long time. She knew how to get what she wanted.

As he brought the knife up to his palm, he was acutely aware of what he was doing. He could never turn back from this. It was clear to him that though this woman was not the devil, he was messing with dark magic, _very_ dark magic. He knew that there would be consequences for this. And yet, knowing this didn’t even make him pause. For whatever reason, he had committed to finding Baz and hearing the oracle say that he was running out of time was enough for Simon to not care about whatever consequences he would have to face for this.

He sliced open his palm, gritting his teeth at the pain.

“Squeeze it,” she whispered, eyes transfixed on the blood.

He didn’t expect what happened next. Or, at least, hadn’t thought about why the oracle might want his blood. He hadn’t thought much beyond getting through it for Baz’s sake.

Simon couldn’t hold back the gag this time as she lowered her face to the floor and licked the blood. The slurping noises were enough to make Simon feel faint, and he worried for a second that he might actually pass out without getting the answers that she had promised in exchange for this horrible act.

She finally rose and took the knife from him, forcing him to keep eye contact with her as she licked the blade clean.

“Hm,” she murmured, “Much better.”

Simon noticed that some of her features changed. Shiny patches of skin patched over the areas of her body that has previously been exposed bone. Some of the bald spots on her skull grew short strands of hair and her already bright eyes seemed to glow even brighter.

“Your turn,” Simon said.

“You’re looking for the missing Pitch boy?”

“Yes,” Simon said, pitching forward desperately, against his will, _“Yes.”_

She laughed, the trill sound hurting Simon’s ear.

“Do you like poetry Chosen One?”

He frowned.

'“What?”

She stood up for the first time and walked to one of the windows, lifting her face to the sunlight.

“There’s a poem I like, it’s quite old. Nobody really knows the origin of it.”

“About Baz-”

“One bright day in the middle of the night,” she cut him off, “two dead boys got up to fight. Back to back they faced each other. Drew their swords and shot each other. A deaf policeman heard the noise and ran to save the two dead boys. If you don't believe this lie is true ask the blind man, he saw it, too.”

Simon stayed quiet for a moment.

“I thought it was ‘one bright morning’ in the first line,” he said.

She shrugged.

“As I said, it’s quite old. There have been many versions.”

“What does that poem have to do with me? Or with Baz?”

She turned back to face him and sat once again on the floor.

“Because,” she said, “You’re the two dead boys.”

He felt angry for the first time since he entered the room.

“If you are going to play games with me I’m just going to leave-”

“He’s undead you know,” she said.

Simon stared.

“Of course you know,” she said, “No use lying to me.”

Simon swallowed hard.

“Yes,” Simon said.

“And you,” she said, “How do you think that your story is going to end, Chosen One? A small cottage in the forest, surrounded by the goats?”

He stared at her, realizing for the first time that truth wasn’t just knowledge, it could be used as a weapon too.

“You’re both just a couple of dead boys, the two of you,” she said.

Simon didn’t say another word.

“He’s in a coffin under the bridge a few miles north of his parent’s country club. He’s being kept in a numpty horde. Do you know the place?”

Simon blinked.

“Um, yes actually. Penny did a project in our third year on local hibernating magical creatures. We went to that horde to take notes.”

She smiled.

“Then you have what you need,” she said.

Simon stood, not willing to say thank you after her eerie little poetry reading, but excited to have what he needed.

He was going to get Baz, to save him from whatever the hell was going on.

“Unless,” she said, stopping him in his tracks.

“Unless what?”

She spun the knife in her hand.

“Enjoy the visit from your mother, did you?”

Simon felt his whole body go cold.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said.

Anger flitted across her face, the first real display of emotion that he’d seen from her.

“I’m an oracle,” she said, “I _don’t_ lie.”

He stood where he was.

“What do you know about my mother?”

She stood up and walked as far as the chains would allow her.

“Everything you sweet and lonely child,” she said, “I know _everything.”_

Simon felt like he might cry, which made no sense. He’d never known his mother, what did it matter if this woman had answers? It’s not like it would make his mother come back to life, or give him back memories he never had to begin with. Still, he burned to know more.

“All you have to do is give a little more,” she said, eyes burning brighter than a star.

He snapped out of it, shaking his head.

“No,” he said, “No more.”

She sighed and walked back to her spot by the window, done with him.

“Oh well,” she said, “It was worth a shot. You’ll be back eventually.”

“You don’t know that,” he said.

He could see her twisted smile in the reflection of the glass.

“I do, actually.”

He ignored her and readied himself to go back down through the hole in the floor. He needed to leave to rescue Baz right away, there was no sense in wasting anymore time.

Before he spelled himself down to the floor below, she spoke once more.

“Do you think you’ll still kill each other?” she asked, “Like in the poem? ‘Back to back they faced each other. Drew their swords and shot each other.’ I thought I knew...but maybe my two dead boys will surprise me.”


	5. An Impossible Spell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all. It took me a bit longer to get this posted but I hope you enjoy!

Simon knew that he could call for a cab if he walked the road from Watford down to the town below. He could probably also find Penny and ask to use her phone to call for one. Hell, he could probably ask Penny to make him wings again and _fly_ to Baz. But none of those options seemed fast enough for Simon.

Instead he found himself running to the goats, faster than he’d ever run before. All he could think about was the oracle saying Baz was in a coffin. That couldn’t mean he was dead right? The oracle would have mentioned if he were dead, wouldn’t she? Simon couldn’t be sure. The oracle might not lie, but she was certainly capable of picking and choosing which truths she wanted to share.

When he got to Ebb’s door, he had to push his feet into the dirt to prevent himself from crashing through it. He knocked desperately, hoping that she wasn’t out in the fields.

The door swung open and Ebb stood in the doorway, her eyes wide and her mouth turned down into a frown.

“Simon! Are you okay?”

Simon gulped in air.

“Yes, I’m sorry to barge in. I just...can I come in?”

“Of course.”

She stepped into her cottage to make room for him and wandered off to make tea.

Simon stepped through the doorway and threw the lock into place.

He knew it was unlikely that the Mage had any idea what he was doing or even where he was but he decided he’d rather be safe.

“Would you like some tea Simon?”

Simon started pacing he was so on edge.

“No, thank you though, but no. It’s kind of an emergency.”

She turned to study him.

“What’s going on Simon?”

He stopped pacing and looked at her.

Simon had never known his mother. In all of the homes he’d been to he had never even had a mother figure. The Mage was sometimes like a father to him, but even then it was more like he was a mentor to Simon than anything else. But Ebb had always loved him unconditionally and fully. She had been there whenever Simon needed a hug, or a break, and had always opened her arms for him when he needed to cry. If anyone was like a mother to Simon, it was Ebb, which meant he could trust her with this.

“I know where Baz is,” Simon said.

Something flashed in Ebb’s expression but she quickly schooled her features.

“I know that you...worry about Baz’s motives but I can assure you Simon that he’s not off planning a siege of Watford. I’ve spoken with his professors.”

Simon frowned, momentarily thrown.

“Why would you talk to them about Baz?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Because I care about his well being.”

Simon shook his head, trying to refocus on why he’d come here in the first place.

“Well, I do too, apparently. I know he’s not off plotting somewhere.”

She nodded, opening one of her cabinets to grab some biscuits.

“Good, I’m so glad that you’ve finally realized how you really feel. I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about this, what with you graduating from Watford and all this year. Simon, I know you’ve always thought you hated Baz but-”

“Ebb!”

She paused in her pursuit of a comfy woolen blanket on her couch.

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling his cheeks burn from yelling, “I just...don’t know how much time I have. Baz has been kidnapped.”

“What?”

She dropped her biscuit.

“Baz has been kidnapped and is being kept in a coffin by numpties. I _need_ to find him.”

She swallowed, hands fluttering at her sides.

“Well,” she said, “First things first, we’ll need to tell the Mage. How did you even find out about this?”

Simon couldn’t believe he was going to say what he was about to say. But there was no getting around it, the Mage couldn’t be trusted.

“You can’t tell the Mage about this.”

Ebb studied his face.

“Simon I’m sure he’ll forgive you if you broke orders to get this information.”

“It’s not that,” Simon said, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I followed the Mage and found out from him. He was discussing it with some...colleague.”

Simon didn’t elaborate on what he meant by colleague. If he told Ebb about the oracle, Ebb who loved all living things with such intensity, then he risked her prioritizing freeing the oracle over helping Baz. Selfish as it was, he needed Ebb to focus.

“The Mage is aware that Baz has been kidnapped and he’s done nothing to stop it?” Ebb asked, voice flat.

Simon nodded.

“And we can’t say anything. He knows exactly where Baz is and he hasn’t done anything to get him back. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of how much he hates the Old Families or maybe it’s because he hates dark creatures.”

Simon stopped talking, realizing he had accidentally exposed Baz as a vampire.

Ebb didn’t seem surprised or concerned about his accidental admission.

“Or maybe it’s because he arranged it,” Ebb said.

Simon blinked, cold spreading through his stomach and making it heavy.

“He wouldn’t,” Simon said, feeling the awful sensation that he was wrong, that he was just in denial, “He just...that’s a student. And even if he would...why would he risk everything like that?”

Ebb shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she said, “Maybe you’re right, maybe it’s political. But I don’t want to risk it. Don’t worry Simon, I won’t say a word to him.”

Simon nodded.

She walked over to her bed and grabbed her staff.

“But I assume you didn’t come running over here to ask for advice.”

He looked up at her.

“I need you to create a portal.”

He heard her inhale sharply.

“I know that it isn’t possible,” he said, “Or, at least, that it hasn’t been done before. But you’re the strongest Mage that I know besides me. And I don’t have time to waste. I _need_ to get to him.”

She stared at him.

“Simon, it’s impossible, the Humdrum only managed it because he’s eating up our magic. I don’t even have the words. It might be easier if my brother were still alive...”

Simon nodded patiently, hoping the memory of her brother wouldn’t throw her too off track.

“He made your magic stronger.”

She nodded.

“Nico was always better than me too. Just this once I wish I could break the rules, ask him to help.”

Simon frowned.

“But he’s dead.”

She bit her lip.

“I shouldn’t tell you this but with everything else going on...I suppose secrets aren’t of any use at this point. He’s dead but he’s...also alive.”

The image of the oracle flashed in his mind, a corpse reanimated.

“What do you mean?”

She looked away, tears spilling down her face.

“Nico...he’s a vampire now. He chose to become a vampire. And he’s still a magician too. But they took his wand and there’s no way I could even get to him in time. I’m sorry Simon.”

He frowned, why did the name Nico sound so familiar? Had he ever heard of a Nico the vampire? He turned it over in his mind for a moment. And then the realization came to him like a splash of cold water to the face.

 _“Nicodemus,”_ Simon breathed.

Ebb’s eyes widened.

“How do you no his whole name?”

Simon realized he would have to lie once more. There was no time to explain about Natasha’s ghost.

“I read it somewhere. Ebb, could you tell me where Nico is?”

She shook her head, unsteadily.

 _“No,”_ she said, voice thick, “No, and I told you already that it won’t do any good. It will just delay you further and besides, he doesn’t even have a wand.”

Simon tried to think on his feet.

“But I might need him,” he said hurriedly, making up the words as they came out of his mouth, “Baz is...like him. I’ll need to get him blood and no other vampire is going to trust a magician. If I tell him you sent me and asked for him to help me, I might be able to get Baz what he needs and hide him from the Mage.”

Ebb was crying harder now, her expression torn.

“Do you really think it might help?”

Simon looked away.

“I don’t know,” he said, the honesty in his voice real, who knew if Nico would even have any of the information Natasha said he would?

“But I know that I’ll need as much help as I can get,” he said.

She nodded.

“Okay,” she whispered, “He’s...I heard he sometimes spends his nights at The Carfax. It’s a bar just outside London. If you can find one of those computer contraptions I’m sure you can get directions. That’s all I know.”

Simon nodded.

“Great, thank you.”

She wiped her face.

“Only go to him if you absolutely need to. He’s not the kind of person you want to get mixed up with.”

"Because he’s a vampire?”

“Because he’s Nico.”

Simon tried to redirect the conversation to the issue at hand.

“Well, if we can’t get Nico to help then I need you to make the portal Ebb.”

She gave him a sad look.

He walked up to her and grabbed her hands.

_“Please.”_

She pulled one of her hands away and stroked his face.

“I’m not strong enough,” she said, “But you might be.”

He hung his head.

“I can’t direct it though, I’ll just go off.”

She shook her head and had him put his hand on her staff. She laid her hand on the other half of the handle.

“We’re going to do it together,” she said, “You’re going to push the magic and say the spell. I’ll try to direct it.”

“Is that even possible?”

She shrugged.

“We have to try.”

He nodded.

“What spell should I use?”

She bit her lip, thinking hard.

“You’re going to need to cast something powerful. A sonnet I think will do well.”

Simon felt his heart pound faster. He struggled with regular spells, he’d never even attempted something as complex as a sonnet.

“What did you have in mind?”

She went to her bookshelf and pulled out a worn copy of Shakespeare’s best works. She flipped through it for a minute before nodding and handing it off to Simon. Then she returned her hand to the staff.

“This is a love sonnet,” Simon said, reading it.

She nodded.

“Nothing is more powerful,” she said.

“I don’t think this will work to transport me.”

She gripped the staff harder.

“If you really want to save Baz, if you really focus on that while you say this spell, then I think it might work.”

Simon seriously doubted it but he was wasting time by not trusting Ebb. If this didn’t work he was going to just ask her to spell him wings and he’d fly to Baz if he had to.

“Fine,” he said.

“Focus on Baz,” she instructed, “Focus on his face and everything about him.”

“Shouldn’t I be focusing on where he is instead?”

She shook her head, her eyes closed as if she were the one prepping for the spell.

“Not how it works. Focus on Baz.”

Simon closed his eyes for a minute.

He unlocked all of the places in his mind where he kept Baz. It was like when he let himself run over his list of things he missed before returning to Watford, except that he never realized that his list had so much of Baz in it, hidden away and locked down. He remembered the way Baz’s cheeks would sometimes flush when Simon would get a particularly good jab in. He remembered the time that they’d been forced to team up on the pitch but had won, how good it had felt to win with Baz on his side. He remembered yelling at each other in the halls, spelling their books into the air, and kicking each other like the children they were. He remembered Baz crying out from night terrors. He remembered crying in front of Baz while he sneered. All the good memories and the bad memories merged together until all he could feel was _want._

He started to speak.

“ **Let me not to the marriage of true minds**

**Admit impediments. Love is not love**

**Which alters when it alteration finds,**

**Or bends with the remover to remove:**

**O no! it is an ever-fixed mark.** ”

He wanted to find Baz alive. To bring him back and make good on his promise to Natasha.

“ **That looks on tempests and is never shaken;**

**It is the star to every wandering bark,**

**Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.** ”

He wanted to ask Baz how any of this had happened. To make him explain everything that had happened.

“ **Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks**

**Within his bending sickle's compass come:**

**Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,**

**But bears it out even to the edge of doom.**

**If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.** ”

He wanted Baz _home_.

“Good luck Simon,” he heard Ebb say.

Her voice sounded very far away, like a whisper on the wind.

When he opened his eyes he was on a bridge, not in a small cottage, and Ebb was gone.


	6. Under the Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really happy with how this story has turned out so far and I'm so excited to share another chapter!

Penny turned in a circle, totally confused.

She was standing in Simon and Baz’s room, looking around as if she expected Simon to roll out from under the bed and yell, “Surprise!” But she couldn’t understand where Simon would be. He hadn’t shown up to any of his classes and he’d missed all of his meals. She might have expected Simon not to show up for school, but food? He’d never skip out on roast beef.

Agatha was standing nearby, rubbing her arms like she was cold and twitching nervously. Penny felt torn about having Agatha there. On the one hand, she was relieved that Agatha and Simon had broken up. She’d always known that they weren’t meant to be together, Simon looked at Agatha like some people looked at Normal crosses, like she was more than he could understand and like maybe she could save him. That wasn’t love, that was worship.

Penny also felt bad for Agatha. It must be hard to be someone’s trophy girlfriend, to have the weight of someone else’s future on your shoulders. Penny could never imagine what it would be like if Micah treated her like his salvation. Loving someone meant figuring out the problems together, not treating them like the end solution to all of your problems.

But she was also annoyed with Agatha. It had taken her practically a half an hour to convince Agatha to help her track Simon down. Yes, she totally understood why Agatha had wanted to break up with Simon. But she didn’t think that meant that Agatha should turn her back on him completely.

“What’s wrong?” Penny asked.

Agatha looked at her, biting her lip.

“Aren’t we going to get in trouble? This is a _boys’_ room.”

Penny rolled her eyes.

“I’ve told you we’re not going to get in trouble, I have my ways. Besides, gender restriction spells are absolutely ridiculous. There are three guys living in our building alone. Gender isn’t binary or determined by biological sex, and what’s between my legs shouldn’t dictate what buildings I get to enter.”

Agatha huffed.

“Yes, yes I agree but I doubt the Mage will. I doubt he even knows our names.”

Penny regarded Agatha thoughtfully.

“I didn’t think you agreed with me about the Mage being sexist.”

Agatha frowned.

“Of _course_ I do. Why wouldn’t I? Every time he comes to my house he snaps his fingers at me to get him coffee. I just don’t see the point in fighting him on it.”

Penny went back to frantically searching.

“That’s where you and I differ. If he’s being a sexist pig then he should be treated as one, thrown out into the mud so to speak.”

Agatha peaked into the bathroom.

“Yes but it won’t change his mind. That’s the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”

Penny got on her stomach and looked under the beds.

“Then we should put someone else in charge.”

Agatha snorted.

“Try that with Simon around and let me know how it goes.”

Penny stood back up, wiping dust off of her knees. Baz not being at Watford meant the room was much messier than it would normally be at this time of year. That was one thing that Penny could give Baz, he kept Simon’s home life cleaner and more organized.

“Yeah,” Penny said, deflated that she hadn’t found any clues, “I guess I can give you that.”

Agatha walked over to the window.

“Look, I get that you’re probably pissed off at me for breaking Simon’s heart or whatever, but I want you to know that I didn’t do it for Baz. I’m not leaving Simon for someone else. I do care about him.”

Penny walked over to stand by Agatha, watching their reflections in the glass.

“I know that,” Penny said, “About the Baz thing. I wasn’t so sure about the caring thing.”

Agatha took a sharp breath.

“How could I not care about Simon? After everything we’ve been through.”

Penny got the sense that Agatha was looking at the window to avoid making eye contact with her.

“Well, you’ve sort of disappeared from his life. And I had to practically beg you to help me.”

Agatha cleared her throat and for a moment Penny thought she might cry. But she blinked back the glassy liquid in her eyes, straightening her back.

“I didn’t know how to be Simon’s friend. I’ve been everything to him for so long that I couldn’t remember what it was like to just be there for him. I wasn’t sure what kind of place I had to come back to.”

Penny shrugged.

“Maybe it’s time you created your own place, on your own terms.”

Agatha glanced over at her.

“I always thought you didn’t really like me,” she said.

Penny shook her head.

“No,” she said, “I just didn’t think like you and Simon together.”

Agatha smiled.

“And you’re sure it’s not because you’re secretly in love with him?”

Penny wrinkled her nose.

“Have you seen the way he eats butter? Definitely not.”

Agatha laughed.

“So you don’t hate me?”

Penny put a hand on Agatha’s shoulder.

“No,” she says, “I think I’ve just never had the chance to get to know _you._ Not as Simon’s girlfriend, but just you.”

Agatha went back to looking out the window.

“But I’d like to,” Penny said.

Agatha frowned.

“Penny,” she said, “If Simon isn’t in his room or isn’t getting food, there’s only one other place he’d be.”

Penny looked out into the direction that Agatha was looking.

“Great snakes,” Penny whispered, “You’re a genius! He must be with Ebb.”

She looked at Agatha.

“Are you going to join me? Or do you just want me to text you when I find him?”

Agatha blinked.

“I’ll join you,” she said slowly, “But not for Simon. I’m doing this for me.”

Penny nodded, starting for the door.

“Good,” Penny said, “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for a long time.”

* * *

 

Simon was standing above the numpty nest with his fists clenched at his sides.

He could tell they knew that he was there. There were piles of what first appeared to be rocks in a half circle formation around an ill concealed box. There was foliage and mud smeared over the box and Simon had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. It looked like a coffin.

The piles of rocks he knew, were the numpties. They had attempted to surround the box in a defensive formation but in doing so had blown any chance at camouflaging themselves. Numpties weren’t very smart and generally weren’t very dangerous. Whoever had asked them to kidnap and guard a teenage vampire must have compensated them well. He couldn’t see any blankets but he imagined that the numpties would have hid their warm loot when they heard him teleport above the bridge.

“I know you’re there,” Simon said.

Nothing moved.

“I don’t want to hurt any of you,” Simon said, “But I will, if I have to.”

There still wasn’t any movement.

Simon said the incantation to summon his blade, almost yelling it so that all of the numpties could hear what he was doing.

There was a slight rumbling, a shiver among a few of the rocks. But they appeared to be tentatively standing their ground.

Simon swung the blade around in a practiced move, and this time one of the rocks moved back a bit, almost as if against its will.

“I’m going to take the vampire,” Simon said, “And if you try to stop me, I’ll have to kill you.”

It’s not that Simon liked resolving things with his sword, it was just that he tended to blow things up more often than not when he tried to de-escalate things with his wand. It seemed better to control the damage with his blade than to blow everything and everyone up within a five mile radius.

He walked towards the box and found himself blocked by the stones.

Simon didn’t have time for this. All he could think about was Baz alone in that box, probably starving and definitely traumatized. It didn’t matter that he hated Baz, this kind of torment wasn’t something he would wish on his worst enemy. And besides, he wasn’t so convinced that he hated Baz anymore, or that he ever really did. Baz could really piss him off and he could be as annoying as he was arrogant. His political opinions were kind of shit, especially considering Baz wouldn’t even be allowed to attend Watford in the vision his family had of how things should be. But he was also just a teenager, just someone who’d lost his mom as a kid and had been thrown into a war he’d never asked for.

He’d always been a part of Simon’s life and he wasn’t prepared for that to change.

Simon swung his blade, hoping he wasn’t slicing through neck.

The numpty he sliced screeched and fell backwards holding the stump where a second ago had been something Simon imagined was probably an arm.

“I am _not_ fucking around,” Simon said, “Give him to me or I’ll kill you all.”

This time the numpties let him through, all of them mumbling about how no amount of blankets was worth _this._

As he passed them he could make out some of their features. They looked terrified of him. Their stoney bodies were shaking with fear as he made his way to the box. He felt a bit bad about that, but he knew numpties well. They were stubborn creatures, and if whoever had arranged Baz’s kidnapping had promised more loot for a job well done, then it was unlikely that they would back down from a fight unless death were on the table.

When he reached the box he dropped to his knees, feeling heavier than he had in his entire life and undid the latch on it. The latch was heavy and made of silver. In fact, most of the box was covered in silver. With a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, Simon realized that the box was a coffin. When he finally had all of the latches undone Simon heaved the lid of the coffin open.

The sight made Simon’s heart pound even harder than it already had been.

Baz, looking greyer than he ever had, was lying down with his eyes closed. He was wearing tennis clothes, which must have been white when he’d been kidnapped. Now they were covered in what looked like blood, bile, and excrement. His nails were broken and bleeding and Simon thought that some of them might be missing altogether, as if he had tried clawing his way out of the coffin. The only thing that kept Simon from throwing up, from losing his shit altogether, was the slight movement of Baz’s chest. He was breathing.

 _“Baz,”_ Simon breathed.

Baz’s eyes shot open.

There was nothing human in Baz’s eyes in that moment. All Simon could see in them was pure animal panic. His pupils had constricted so much that his eyes were practically an ocean of grey with the tiniest pinprick of black in the center. At first it was like Baz wasn’t seeing anything, tears were just streaming from his eyes. Simon could tell they weren’t tears of sadness, they weren’t really tears of _anything._ If he had to guess, he thought it was probably in reaction to the light. Baz probably hadn’t been exposed to natural light for quite a while.

Baz gasped, his body twitching and his hands grasping for the edges of the coffin and slipping pathetically. They were too bloody to get a grip on the wood. Simon felt like crying in that moment, the ugly kind of crying you do as a kid when the only thing that can get rid of the horrible feeling in your chest is curling up into a ball and howling at the world.

“Baz,” Simon said, leaning over the coffin and putting his hands on his shoulders, “Don’t try to get out. I’m going to help you up.”

Baz seemed to focus for the first time when Simon touched him.

His eyes swung to finally meet Simon’s and he blinked a few times, tears streaming faster.

“Simon,” Baz whispered.

It seemed like he probably hadn’t been trying to whisper, but that he didn’t have enough of a voice left to talk louder. _I should have brought water_ Simon thought _or maybe even medicine, do vampires take medicine?_

Baz’s ruined fingers found their way into Simon’s shirt and curled there, iron grips.

“That’s it,” Simon said, his voice softer than it had ever been when speaking to Baz, “Just hold onto me.”

Simon moved his hands under Baz’s torso, shifting his body up into a sitting position. His hands were now covered in the filth of the coffin but he didn’t even care. A few moments of discomfort were nothing compared to the horror Baz had been subjected to. He didn’t feel disgusted, only sick about what had happened to Baz.

He could feel Baz’s breath on his neck and knew exactly what he was risking. Simon had no idea if Baz had been given any blood while he’d been trapped in the coffin and he had no idea how long Baz had actually been kept for. If Baz hadn’t been given any blood and if he’d been kidnapped for as long as Simon suspected he’d been, then he was opening himself up to being mauled, and Baz probably wouldn’t even mean to do it.

Baz was shaking, whether from the effort of sitting up straight or because he was in shock Simon wasn’t sure.

“We’re going to get up now,” Simon said, “You and me together.”

He wrapped Baz’s arms around his own neck and use his back and knees to lift them both up into a standing position. Baz made a soft noise of absolute agony, sweat covering his face and his lips losing any of the color that they’d had left. His body couldn’t handle standing on its own, and so Simon let him slump against him and lowered them back to the ground to give him a minute.

“We need to get out of here,” Simon said, looking around, “I don’t know who is after you but they could be close. I need to get you to safety.”

Baz made a noise and at first Simon thought it was because he was hurting again but then he realized he was laughing, a dazed sort of laugh, the kind without any humor in it.

“I’m dead aren’t I?” Baz asked, “There’s no way this could be happening in real life.”

Simon shifted so he could look at Baz’s face.

“What are you talking about? You’re alive Baz.”

Baz was staring at him with a strange look in his eyes.

“You’re alive,” Simon whispered.

It must have all been too much for Baz; the light, the pain of having to move, and Simon there to watch it all. He didn’t pass out like people did in the movies, eyes fluttering and mouths sighing prettily. Instead, his eyes rolled back and his breathing became rapid. And then he slumped in Simon’s arms, his nose bleeding. For a second, Simon thought he might be dead, that this journey had led him to Baz only for it to end with him dying in his arms. But then he put his ear to Baz’s mouth and heard him breathing.

Simon looked around, worried once more that whoever had set this up was waiting, watching them. Then he looked back down at Baz limp in his arms. Wasn’t it the vampire that was supposed to hold the human, bleeding and passed out, in their arms?

Simon laid Baz out on the ground and shifted his grip, so that his left arm was curled under Baz’s torso and his right under Baz’s knees. He lifted him of the ground, grunting as he did so. It wasn’t easy but it was manageable. He could carry Baz to the next town if he had to.

With one last glance at the horror around him, Simon walked back towards the main road.

Baz was finally where Simon needed him to be.

With him, safe, and on their way home.


	7. Waking Up

Baz felt like the world was spinning around him.

He couldn’t open his eyes, and the pain throbbing through the rest of his body told him that he didn’t _want_ to open his eyes. Some distant part of him recognized that he wasn’t in the coffin anymore. He wasn’t totally conscious, but he could feel something smooth under his fingers and he could smell cigarettes. The coffin had just smelled like blood and death.

He groaned, unable to stop himself from making the noise.

His body felt like it had been thrown around by a werewolf and then blasted by a dragon. Everything hurt from his throbbing head to his bruise back. Even his fingers hurt, they felt raw and whenever he twitched the pain shot up from his fingertips to his elbows. The only thing that didn’t hurt was his left leg, which felt ominously numb.

Finally he was able to force his eyes open.

The first thing he noticed was that his clothes were mysteriously clean, unnaturally clean in fact. He’d ripped the side of his polo a week before he’d been kidnapped at the club, not only was the rip gone, but it looked as if he were wearing a brand new outfit.

The next thing he noticed was that he was in a car, seatbelted in the passenger side. It was an old car and very dirty. His feet were surrounded by cigarette butts and fast food bags. He tried to kick at one of the bags with his numb leg and found that he could only wiggle his toes.

“You awake?”

Baz nearly jumped.

Simon Snow was sitting in the driver’s side, looking more stressed than he’d ever seen him before.

“Snow?”

Simon jerked the steering wheel to the side and swore under his breath.

“Yeah? Are you okay?”

Baz felt like his brain was malfunctioning, or maybe it had left his body altogether.

It took him a moment for his memory to come back. Hazy images of Simon’s brilliant eyes staring down at him, expression horrified, over the coffin. He vaguely remembered thinking that he had died and gone to heaven which didn’t make sense as he was one, an undead and damned vampire, and two, in a horrific amount of pain. And then, just when he was beginning to think about kissing him in his delirious state of shock, he had passed out.

“I...do you even know how to drive?”

Baz knew that he should be thanking Simon, or cursing him, or even just asking for healing spells, but he couldn’t get past the impossibility of the situation. It made no sense that Simon was here, that Simon had saved his life. And yet he couldn’t stop the warm feeling in his chest, the tiny burst of hope that maybe Simon really did care about what happened to him. Simon swerved the car and narrowly missed crashing into a curb.

"Not...exactly…”

This had been the source of Baz’s feeling like the world was spinning then, Simon’s terrible driving. In the span of the minute since he’d awoken, he’d watched Simon nearly crash three times. Then it occurred to him that Simon didn’t have a car and didn’t know anyone with a car.

“Whose car is this?”

Simon huffed, eyes trained on the road in front of him.

“Why does that even matter right now? Are you okay? I tried a lot of healing spells on you but only a few seemed to, you know, actually go through.”

Baz frowned.

That wasn’t really how magic was supposed to work, it wasn’t like spotty wifi. You either had magic or you didn’t and if you had it, it should always ‘go through.’

“I’m still in a lot of pain,” Baz answered, truthfully, “And...I can’t feel my left leg.”

“Shit.”

Simon glanced nervously at Baz and then back to the road.

“No, it wasn’t your spell,” Baz said, “It was...it’s been that way for a while.”

Baz knew he wasn't talking like he normally would.

Normally he would be sneering at Simon and telling him how his spellwork had probably rearranged some of his organs. But at the moment he couldn’t summon the proper attitude. All he could feel was awe. He had no idea how Simon had found him and he had no idea why Simon would even want to. But he knew Simon must have carried him from the road, had probably stolen a car somehow, and now he seemed to be embarking on some high speed escape. Plus, if he pissed him off Baz was a little worried Simon might actually crash into something.

“I’ll try some more when we stop,” Simon said.

Baz couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why?”

Simon frowned.

“Because you’re in pain, why wouldn’t I?”

“No,” Baz shook his head and then regretted it as a fresh wave of pain lanced through his skull, “I meant, why are you here?”

He watched Simon.

This time Simon didn’t glance at him and he could tell it was purposeful. Something about Simon’s expression was guarded, but not in the resentful way it usually was when Baz was on to Simon and the gang’s ridiculous quests. This time it looked like he was worried and for once that he wasn’t worried that Baz had done something wrong.

Simon swallowed.

“It’s a long story.”

“You’re not turning me in to the Mage?”

That earned him a look.

“Why would I do that?”

Baz let out a surprised breath of amusement.

Simon shook his head.

“Right, stupid question,” he mumbled, “Sorry.”

Baz closed his eyes, he was going to be carsick if he kept watching Simon’s driving.

“No,” Simon said, “I’m not turning you in to the Mage. I’m not turning you in to anybody. I’m, well, I’m trying to help you.”

Baz kept his eyes closed, none of this made sense.

“You never help me Snow, we’ve never once helped each other.”

Simon jerked the car to a stop.

“I don’t think that’s exactly true,” he said, “And besides, things have changed.”

Baz opened his eyes, not daring to let the thought form in his head. There was no way that Simon Fucking Snow had feelings for him. There was no way that he no longer hated him. It was useless to even jokingly consider these things as possibilities.

“How?”

Simon studied Baz’s face.

“I’ll tell you in the room.”

Baz blinked in confusion.

“We need to get inside and out of the public eye. Plus, I need to finish healing you. I can’t do that in a stolen car.”

Baz’s eyes widened.

“You _did_ steal it, I knew it.”

Simon rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Did you cast a **finders keepers losers weepers**?”

Simon snorted.

“No, I hot-wired it.”

For some absurd reason Baz found that hot.

“How very Normal of you,” Baz said.

Simon reached over and undid his seatbelt.

The scent of Simon’s blood hit him like a crashing wave. It was lucky that the numpties had given him blood. If they hadn’t, Simon would have been dead the second he’d opened the coffin. But he _was_ hungry, which always made his thirst worse. Plus, the numpties hadn’t given him blood for a few days. If he was going to be on the run with Simon, a thought that made him ridiculously giddy, then he would need to find some blood.

“I’m going to help you out of the car,” Simon said.

Baz sneered, finally recovering himself a bit.

“I’m not a damsel in distress Snow.”

Simon glared at him.

“No you're an asshole in two month old tennis whites,” he snapped, “Now stay put.”

He slammed the door and came around the other side.

When Simon helped him out of the car Baz realized why he’d been so insistent on helping him.

He couldn’t actually hold himself up straight he was so exhausted and when he tried to push himself, the pain was so bad that he nearly collapsed.

“How did you even manage to get me in the car?”

Simon licked his lips, almost nervously.

“I carried you.”

Baz felt his pulse jump.

Simon Snow had carried him, in his _arms_ , and he had been unconscious. Never before had Baz felt more damned than he did in that moment.

“Like a sack of potatoes over your shoulder?”

Simon had one of Baz’s arms slung over his shoulder, shouldering almost all of his weight.

Simon raised his wand to the car, ignoring him.

**“Return from whence you came.”**

The car snapped out of existence, the sound like grinding metal and rubber snapping.

“I think you may have returned it to the factory it was built in.”

Simon shrugged, though he did look a little disturbed.

“Better than here, where it can be traced.”

Baz didn’t argue with that.

Simon dragged Baz in the direction of a small bed and breakfast. It looked old but cute nevertheless. He had never seen or heard of this place before and he doubted that Simon had either. He must have cast some sort of finding spell for the nearest inn. Baz had no idea why they were here and not at Watford.

“Shouldn’t you take me home? Or at least to Watford?”

Simon shook his head.

“I told you I would explain once we got a room. No, we cannot go back to Watford. And I’m not sure it’s safe to take you home either.”

“My family didn’t do this and they wouldn’t hurt me.”

Simon opened the door of the inn.

“I know that,” Simon said, “But the Mage has raided your house at least twice since you’ve been gone and I don’t want him finding you.”

Baz felt a mild pang of concern for his family. Who knew what the Mage would unearth going through their home. But he was confident that his father would take care of things. Unless the Mage wanted an all out war, he wouldn’t have them arrested for dark cookbooks and questionable summoning circles, not that either had been used in ages.

“Why wouldn’t you want the Mage to know?”

Simon was dragging him to the front desk.

“I don’t trust him,” he said, “That’s why.”

He didn’t have a chance to respond to that as a kind, older woman was approaching them at the counter. Which was probably lucky for Simon as Bad had a million questions he wanted to lob at him. _Simon Snow doesn’t trust the Mage?_

“Hi,” the lady smiled, “My name is Alice. What can I do for you boys?”

Simon smiled his best golden boy smile.

“We’ll need one room if that’s okay. My boyfriend went a bit overboard during our tennis match and hurt his ankle. I want to get him on ice as soon as possible and get his foot elevated.”

Baz felt his stomach drop and his cheeks go red, or rather grey-pink in his case, and stared at Simon.

Did Simon actually just call him his boyfriend? He knew it was a ruse to get them a room, but still, Baz had always assumed Simon saw him as an irritating creature, like a mosquito, not like someone who could be someone else’s boyfriend.

“Of course,” she said, “Oh dear, I hope it’s not too bad. Not that I don’t want you here but are you sure you want a room? Shouldn’t you boys go back home? Or to a doctor?”

Simon shook his head.

“It’s a long ride home, we were here on vacation, and I don’t think he’ll be very comfortable with a four hour drive right now. As for a doctor, this is hardly the first time he’s twisted his ankle being a competitive brat. I’ve dealt with this before.”

Simon laughed at the end of the last sentence.

It struck Baz how odd that the exchange was. Simon wasn’t a very talkative person and when he _did_ talk it was usually to tell you exactly what was on his mind, not to playfully flirt with middle-aged women to get a hotel room.

She glanced at Baz and giggled.

“Oh dear, do I sense a lover’s quarrel?”

Baz realized he was going to have to play the part. As much as he tried to feel annoyed, he couldn’t feel anything except exhausted gratitude that Simon was trying to get them a room and a small bit of amusement. It was a _little_ fun.

Baz huffed dramatically and slapped Simon’s chest.

“He’s only mad because he always loses.”

She laughed again and then began inputting numbers on her computer.

“I’ll just need a credit card and some ID.”

Baz glanced at Simon.

He didn’t have any ID on him or any of his cards. The numpties had dumped his wallet when he’d been kidnapped. He didn’t think they had actually planned to kill him, but they probably hadn’t wanted the evidence on them just in case.

Simon handed over his ID and a credit card.

“Great, thank you Mr. Snow, and you Mr…?”

Baz tried not to look panicked.

“Babe, where’s your wallet?”

Simon was staring at him with intensity.

“Oh,” Baz said, catching on to what Simon wanted him to do, “Oh no, I must have left it on the counter when Andrew went to get me ice.”

Simon frowned.

“Are you serious? The club will be closed at this hour, how are we supposed to get it back for tonight?”

Alice frowned at both of them.

“Oh dear,” she said, “I really need ID.”

Baz let his face fall.

“Simon it really hurts,” Baz said, feeling a thrill go up his spine as he said Simon’s name, “What are we going to do?”

The woman bit her lip nervously.

“Oh...well all right, just the once. Mr. Snow you are eighteen. I assume your boyfriend is of age as well?”

Baz nodded.

“Yes, thank you so much.”

She handed them a key off the wall and smiled.

“I’ll have Frank bring up an ice pack for you.”

Simon nodded.

“Thank you Alice we really appreciate it.”

Simon removed Baz’s arm from around his shoulders.

“Come on,” he said, “I’m not dragging you up the stairs.”

Baz felt his pulse spike again. At this rate he was going to die of a heart attack.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

Part of him was screaming that he was an absolute idiot for refusing Simon this. He had missed out the last time by being unconscious and against all odds he was being offered the opportunity again. Simon wanted to carry him and dammit Baz wanted to be carried by him. But there was another part of him, his pride, that didn’t want Simon to know he wanted it. Even if Simon only thought he wanted it because of the pain.

“Come on, _honey_ ,” Simon glanced meaningfully at Alice, who was watching the whole exchange, “I’m not letting you take those stairs.”

Baz felt like a toddler, crossing his arms and grumbling angrily as he settled into Simon’s arms.

Still, the feeling was like nothing else. He could smell Simon’s sweat, which was probably a gross thing but he liked it. It didn’t smell bad, just like Simon. When Simon hitched him up closer to his chest Baz had to resist to urge to curl up like a puppy. _Merlin_ Baz thought _I’m an absolute moron._

“Off to our room,” Baz murmured.

Simon stayed silent.

Baz had no idea how they would proceed from here, but he had a feeling it would make as little sense as the rest of it had.


	8. Blood and Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a content warning, this chapter features skin being cut and blood drinking, but nothing negative or overly graphic.

Simon felt like his brain had wandered off somewhere in the numpty nest and now his body was operating on its own. He was carrying Baz up the stairs, holding him close to his body, and he’d removed his cross after Baz had passed out earlier in his arms. Nothing was stopping Baz from closing the short distance between where he lay in his arms and his neck. Yet, Simon didn’t feel afraid and was more concerned with making sure he didn’t hurt Baz as they made their way to the room. Nothing he was doing made any sense.

When he got to the door he set Baz down and shifted him so that he was back to having his arm thrown over his shoulder. Slowly, he managed to get Baz on the bed.

Simon wiped the sweat off of his forehead and sat down on the comfy armchair next to the window, watching Baz.

He had tried several healing spells on Baz. Only a few had worked, but the few that did seemed to have done a good deal of work. He’d also done a cleaning spell, which had worked far better than he could have ever expected. Baz looked amazing, like he’d just had a nice shower and visited the salon, not like a man who’d been trapped in a coffin for six weeks. Still, he could see that Baz was in a lot of pain and he wasn’t sure there was much more that he could do.

“So,” Baz said, “We’re boyfriends are we?”

Simon sighed.

“Well, if I said we were sworn enemies on the run from a questionable magician and that you needed time to heal after being kidnapped by numpties, I'm pretty sure we wouldn’t have gotten the room.”

Baz sighed.

“Still, boyfriends wouldn’t have been my go to excuse.”

Simon frowned.

“Does that really bother you? The gay thing?”

Baz rolled his eyes.

“No, but I would think for it to be believable I’d need to do a lot better than you.”

Simon could tell Baz didn’t really mean it. His voice held none of its usual malice, only exhaustion. His eyes were closed and there was a sheen of sweat on his face.

The knock at the door made them both jump.

Simon stood up and opened the door to a plump and smiling older man.

“Hiya,” he said, “I’m Frank. Alice said that you needed some ice for your man over there?”

Simon smiled, taking the bag of ice from him.

“Thank you very much, we really appreciate it.”

The man nodded, waving shyly at Baz.

Baz was decent enough to wave back, though he was frowning the whole time.

“Alice and I are making steak and potatoes for dinner tonight, would you like for me to bring some up for you boys when it’s ready? I imagine you’ll both be pretty tired after your ordeal.”

“Yes please,” Simon said.

Frank nodded, smiling even wider.

“All right, I’ll see you boys in a bit.”

Simon closed the door and turned to look at Baz.

Usually when they were alone in their room at Watford, there was always an angry tension in the room. It didn’t matter if they were doing homework or shouting at each other, the feeling was always there. The tension was still thick in the room between them, but it wasn’t an angry tension. Simon felt all of the secrets he’d been keeping push up against his temples, throbbing like it wanted to be let out.

“They’re so chipper,” Baz complained, “It’s like we’re being cared for by Santa and Mrs. Claus.”

“Shut up, they’re just trying to be nice.”

Neither of them moved.

Simon’s back was beginning to ache as he stayed ramrod straight against the door.

“You said you would fill me in once we had a room,” Baz said, eyeing him dangerously.

Simon nodded.

“Yes, but I also said I should do more healing spells.”

Baz shook his head.

“Information first, healing second.”

Finally, Simon moved away from the door and sat on the edge of the bed, facing Baz.

“I guess I should start from the beginning,” Simon said, heart racing.

“That is generally how stories work Snow.”

Simon glared at him.

“Do you want to hear this or what?”

Baz sighed and closed his mouth, signaling his compliance.

Simon wiped his hands on his pants nervously.

“When you were being kidnapped and held by the numpties, the Visitings were happening.”

Simon watched Baz’s eyes widen and his jaw clench. Clearly he knew where Simon was going with this.

“My mother…”

“Yeah,” Simon said, “She came.”

Baz’s expression fell and Simon felt the strangest urge to comfort him. But he wasn’t the type of person that could comfort someone naturally. Usually when Penny or Agatha were sad he would just awkwardly pat their shoulders and repeat “It’s going to be okay,” even if it wasn’t. He doubted Baz would appreciate that in any situation, _especially_ coming from him.

“She came to visit me and I was stuck in a fucking coffin.”

Simon shook his head.

“Actually she wasn’t there to visit you,” Simon said, “She was there to see me.”

Baz raised one of his eyebrows.

“Because you’re just that charming?”

Simon tried to keep in mind that Baz had just been through hell and back and that strangling him would not be the kindest or most effective response to the situation.

“She came to see me because she knew you’d been kidnapped and she wanted me to promise to find you.”

Baz frowned.

“How did she know that?”

Simon shook his head.

“I have no idea.”

“Is that how you found me? She told you where I was?”

“No,” Simon said, “She had no idea who had taken you or where. It was weird actually. She seemed to have a lot of gaps in information.”

“I guess the land of the dead isn’t exactly my area of expertise,” Baz said, “Who knows how any of that works.”

“There was more,” Simon said.

Baz looked impatient.

_"Well?”_

Simon took a deep breath.

“She told me that after I found you we needed to find Nicodemus. That he would know who her killer was.”

“Everyone knows who her killer is, the Humdrum isn’t exactly a secret. And who is Nicodemus?”

“Apparently the Humdrum didn’t kill your mother. And Nicodemus is Ebb’s twin brother. He’s a vampire I guess, chose to be one.”

“None of what you just said makes any sense.”

“I know,” Simon said, feeling tired, “But it’s what she said and what Ebb told me. She gave me the name of this club he hangs out at. Once you’re better, we should go there and try to talk to him.”

Baz shook his head.

“I don’t get it. Why did you even agree to this? What could possibly make you want to save me life? Or make you want to help me find my mother’s killer?”

Simon looked away.

The truth was he’d been asking himself that ever since Natasha had left his room at Watford. This was Baz, the guy who had made his childhood miserable and up to the start of term, Simon had thought of as his sworn enemy. But as he sat in the room with Baz, he realized that it wasn’t true. Baz wasn’t his enemy, he wasn’t even someone Simon hated. He was an arrogant ass with a tendency to piss Simon off. But he was also one of the most constant people in his life, and when Simon had found out he’d been kidnapped, all he’d wanted to do was bring him home.

“It didn’t...it didn’t feel right, not having you around.”

“You missed the constant curses and the constructive criticism?”

“I missed you.”

Baz’s eyes fluttered, mouth opening in surprise.

“You _missed_ me?”

Simon felt his cheeks flame and his throat go dry.

He hadn’t expected the conversation to go in this direction and he had no idea why it was so uncomfortable for him. What did it matter if he missed Baz? Wasn’t it normal to care about your roommate?

Simon shrugged.

“I guess so, yeah. Watford didn’t feel the same without you.”

Baz’s eyes flickered over Simon’s face.

“I didn’t realize my presence had such an effect on you.”

Simon looked up.

“Yes you did.”

Neither of them looked away, eyes locked on one another.

“It wasn’t home without you,” Simon said, voice lower than it needed to be in the private room.

Baz was the one to break the eye contact first.

“None of that explains why you didn’t run to the Mage with all of this,” Baz said, “Even if you did want to help me, isn’t he usually your go to guy?”

Simon felt anger rise up in his throat.

“Your mother said I couldn’t trust the Mage and made me swear not to tell him anything.”

Baz smirked.

“That sounds like her.”

“And then I followed the Mage hoping for some answers and found out that she was right.”

Baz raised his eyebrows.

“Not the knight in shining armor he pretends to be after all, eh?”

Simon looked at his hands.

“He knew where you were the entire time and he did nothing to help. He was going to leave you there. I don’t think he would have cared if you had died.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

Simon hated how normal Baz’s voice sounded, how clearly unsurprised he was that the Mage had planned to leave him to do. It wasn’t fair, a student shouldn’t expect their teachers or their leaders to betray them, regardless of what side Baz’s family stood on.

“Well, it surprised me.”

“How did you even find all this out?”

Simon looked up, wondering if Baz would judge him for this part of the story.

“I followed him and found him with, well an oracle.”

“There hasn’t been an oracle in hundreds of years, how did he find one?”

Simon felt the nausea come back, the image of the oracle’s rotting body replaying in his head.

“He raised one,” Simon said, “Brought one back from the dead.”

Baz made a face.

“I knew the Mage was twisted but even I wouldn’t have thought he was capable of _that._ Raising the dead is some dark business.”

“Yeah well, he did it. And she’s the one who told him where you were.”

Baz studied Simon.

“Did you talk to this oracle?”

Simon couldn’t look away from him even though he felt like he needed to. He didn’t want to share this part of the story.

“I had to, to find out what the Mage did.”

“An undead oracle wouldn’t have given away information for free,” Baz said, voice careful, “You didn’t make a deal with her, did you?”

Simon swallowed.

“I had to find you.”

Baz’s eyes widened.

_“Simon!”_

Simon didn’t say a word.

"You can’t just make a deal with a dead person, especially not an oracle! The kind of dark magic required to bring a person back....you can’t run away from this. There’s going to be a price.”

“Then I’ll have to pay it,” Simon said.

Baz shook his head.

“I can’t have been worth that, Merlin Snow, what were you thinking?”

Simon didn’t have an answer to that because he hadn’t been thinking. He’d just wanted to get Baz back.

“Well, what’s done is done. And as soon as you’ve healed up we’re going to find this Nicodemus.”

Baz frowned.

“Shouldn’t we be exposing the Mage to the coven?”

Simon shook his head.

“The Mage is on high alert. If we want to interrogate a rogue vampire, we should probably do it now while he doesn’t know where we are.”

Simon didn’t say that he wanted to keep Baz as far away from the Mage as possible. He didn’t want to share with Baz that he was pretty sure the Mage was the one who had kidnapped him. It wouldn’t solve anything for Baz to get worked up and try to get his revenge on the Mage while he was still weak.

“Let me try some more healing spells,” Simon said.

Baz shook his head.

“It’s not that. I think you’ve done as much as you can with the spells. I need food.”

Simon nodded.

“Good thing they’re bringing some up soon.”

Baz looked away.

“I also need blood.”

Simon stared.

“Well, there’s no use pretending anymore, is there? You saw everything when you took me out of the coffin,” Baz snapped.

“I know I just, well it’s not normal for us to talk like this.”

“Like friends?”

 _Like there’s no walls between us_ Simon thought.

“Well I’m not going hunting in the woods. I think Alice would notice if I tried to sneak a deer up to the room.”

Baz glared.

“I didn’t expect you to. I was going to go myself.”

Simon looked at Baz’s ruined body.

“There’s no way in hell I’m going to let you do that.”

“Excuse me? _Let_ me? I can do as I damn well please.”

Simon shook his head.

“No, you owe me one, big time. I saved your ass from a coffin and I am not going to let you kill yourself trying to hunt while you can’t even stand on your own.”

Baz blew out an angry breath.

“Then what do you suggest we do? Should I eat the inn cat?”

Simon stood and summoned his sword quietly.

Baz sat up quickly and then grimaced, the movement obviously causing him pain.

“What are you doing?”

Simon walked around the bed and came to sit right next to Baz, the blade resting in his lap.

“We don’t have a lot of choices and I’m not letting you bite me.”

Baz shook his head.

“I am _not_ drinking your blood.”

“Then you’re going to pass out again.”

Baz’s grey eyes narrowed, the energy coming off him strained and lethal.

“I don’t drink human blood.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“I could turn you,” Baz said, “I could _kill_ you.”

“I don’t think I can be turned without you biting me. And I’m pretty sure I can stop you if you start drinking too much.”

“What if you can’t?”

“Then I can’t and you’ll have to figure the rest out for yourself.”

Baz’s mouth opened.

“The rest? You mean after I’ve killed you?”

Simon ignored Baz and brought the blade to his wrist.

“I’m not sure how to do this safely.”

“There is no safe way to do this you idiot,” Baz snapped.

“Maybe this would be better.”

Simon threw off his jumper and undid the top buttons of his shirt so that his collarbone was exposed. Better to make the cut far away from important arteries.

Baz was staring at his skin.

“Snow..”

“Stop thinking about it.”

Baz shut his eyes.

“I could kill you.”

“So?”

“So? I don’t want to kill you.”

He’d opened his eyes though they were lidded heavily.

Simon could tell that he meant it, which made no sense. Baz had always been the one telling him how fun it was to imagine how he planned to kill him. Simon had never backed down from a fight, but it was Baz who had always seemed like he enjoyed it. All of his life at Watford he thought that Baz had been waiting for an opportunity just like this, Simon was practically giving Baz permission to do it. But his eyes were anguished and his fists were curled in the bed.

Baz didn’t want to kill him.

“You won’t,” Simon said, softly.

Then he brought the tip of the blade to his collarbone and cut the skin, deliberately.

Baz shot forward, expression worried.

Simon figured that Baz was worried about the blood dripping, about it getting all over the bed.

But then his expression changed and hunger replaced the worry. His eyes flickered up to Simon’s face.

Simon nodded.

It didn’t take anymore encouragement from Simon for Baz to give in. He couldn’t even imagine the will power it would have taken for Baz to resist once Simon had made the cut. He was clearly in a lot of pain and desperate for relief.

When Baz’s lips hit his collarbone, Simon felt his stomach dip and his pulse jump to his throat. He wasn’t afraid exactly, though he knew that he should be. He didn’t know _how_ he felt really, just that he’d never done this before and didn’t know what to expect.

All he could feel was warmth from Baz’s mouth and a slight pressure. He was glad it didn’t hurt but found himself a bit disappointed. He’d read being bitten by a vampire could feel like getting high or having an adrenaline rush. He supposed that maybe he didn’t feel that way because Baz hadn’t _actually_ bit him. Plus, it wasn’t like very many people survived the experience to be a credible source.

When he felt his head get fuzzy and his limbs tingly he pushed against Baz’s face, forcing him back.

“I can’t Baz, no more. I’m getting dizzy.”

Baz’s mouth was clean, and his eyes were bright.

Simon didn’t know why he expected fangs and blood and fury from Baz. He had always been better with his food than Simon had been.

“Are you okay? Do you feel different?”

Simon shook his head and then felt a fresh wave of dizziness wash over him.

“Just...lightheaded.”

“Then lie back you dolt.”

Despite his tone, Baz’s hands were gentle on him as they eased him to lie down on the bed.

“Do you feel better?” Simon asked.

Baz made a noise of disgust.

“You just let me, an evil vampire, drink your blood and you’re worried about how _I’m_ doing?”

“You’re not evil,” Simon said, closing his eyes.

“That’s not what you’ve said before.”

“Well, I’ve changed my mind.”

He felt Baz lay down next to him.

“Go to sleep Simon,” he said, quietly, “I’ll wake you up when they bring the food up.”

Simon smiled.

“Food, that sounds good right now.”

He felt the world slip away from him as he started to fall asleep. The exhaustion, intensity, and emotions of the last six weeks crashed down on him and threatened to pull him under. Now that he knew Baz was safe and relatively healthy it was like the weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he could finally sleep.

“Thanks...Simon.”

He wasn’t sure if Baz had really thanked him or if it was the start of a dream.


End file.
